


Who Reigns Alone

by GoldenUsagi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hannibal's life before Will, M/M, Ravage Anthology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenUsagi/pseuds/GoldenUsagi
Summary: Hannibal Lecter was not a man who lacked entertainment or pursuits.  The hours of his days were always filled, and he was never bored.  Yet every now and then, it occurred to him that while he made life into a fine game, he was the only one equipped to play.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 100
Collections: RAVAGE - An Infernal Hannibal Anthology





	Who Reigns Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the Ravage Anthology. My Circle of Hell was Vestibule.

Hannibal Lecter was not a man who lacked entertainment or pursuits. He had his practice, his art, his music, his cooking, and his social circle, as well as his more unconventional pastimes. All of them pleasingly intersected with each other, if not directly, then in spirit. Everything he did was selected to highlight some beauty of life, to indulge in some aspect of the human condition he particularly enjoyed. The hours of his days were always filled, and he was never bored.

Yet every now and then, when sitting in the peaceful silence of his home late at night, a glass of wine in one hand and the fire before him, he felt that regardless of the satisfying life he had built, he was merely passing time with agreeable amusements, waiting at the metaphorical gates of some truer life. The idea was always fleeting, almost an afterthought to a long evening, and he never paid it much mind. Hannibal had lived too fully to have a midlife crisis, and so he attributed such thoughts to the inevitable march of time, a thing to which even he was not immune. Life could end at any moment, and that was all the more reason to participate in every brutal and beautiful delight he could.

Waiting was not something Hannibal did, at any rate. He made things happen.

\-----

Hannibal moved in the world without difficulty, and he rearranged the world as he saw fit. When he’d been younger, he had found it almost disconcertingly easy, and had been sure that someone would see through him, would see the real thoughts lurking behind his eyes. But no one had, and now, in the prime of his life, his mask was flawless. Hannibal was prominent, respected, and known for being gracious and sociable, though reserved. He knew his chances of being discovered were close to nil.

Baltimore served him well, and he had firmly established himself there in more ways than one. He had a thriving professional reputation, as well as a damning anonymous one. The Chesapeake Ripper became notorious in the press and Hannibal congratulated himself on his infamy. He completed his works for himself first and foremost, because he felt at his truest while creating something from death. And while he presented such things for all the world to see, he didn’t truly expect anyone to appreciate the artistry and the thematic brushstrokes he painted with. The world would undoubtedly be a richer and much more interesting place if they did. 

People saw what they expected to see, and they certainly never thought of him when they commented on the hellish things in the papers. Hannibal took part in the whispered speculation at society events, sadly shaking his head at the tragedy of it all while he sipped his champagne. He never ceased to be amused by it, and manipulated the people around him with ease.

He had nothing to be dissatisfied with, and in truth, he was supremely satisfied, even though it occurred to him that while he made life into a fine game, he was the only one equipped to play.

\-----

Psychiatry captured Hannibal’s interest because it offered compelling situations that surgery did not. Surgery, of course, held its own distinctions, the chief of which was holding a life directly in his hands. He had found operating on someone neither heady nor humbling, which he observed were common reactions among doctors. On the contrary, it seemed perfectly natural to have his hands in someone’s flesh, soaked in their blood, even if he was saving their life rather than ending it. Hannibal prided himself on his quick thinking and his always-steady hands, and had enjoyed the challenge of bringing patients back who would have died under a less skilled surgeon. His patients had nearly always lived, unless there was truly nothing to be done. And on the occasions Hannibal decided someone on his operating table needed to die, he simply made a mental note to find them later.

But even a profession which seemed so suited to him eventually felt like nothing more than routine, and so Hannibal had turned his degree and his attention toward the mind. Psychiatry had yet to tire him, and the cases it presented were diverse and unending. There was no staccato pulse of life and death, but in its place was something much more tantalizing.

Influencing those around him was not something to which Hannibal was a stranger, but he found unprecedented opportunities to exercise it in his psychiatric practice. It was marvelous the way a subtle word could lead patients to a conclusion or a course of action they wouldn’t have arrived at on their own. Hannibal felt satisfaction at guiding them down untrodden paths, and he felt something almost like pride as his hand directed them to become truer versions of themselves. But the feeling was always faint and indulgent, the way a teacher might feel about the improvement of a middling pupil. 

Hannibal was accustomed to knowing they would never be anything more. He delighted in his influence, but he remained above them all.

\-----

Will Graham caught Hannibal’s eye from the start. Will had empathy that made his mind a unique playground, and Hannibal perceived that Will’s ease with criminal profiles more than hinted at something darker in his psyche. Hannibal was intrigued by the potential spread before him, and he decided as Will left the room that Will was to be his newest amusement. The investigation didn’t call for them to be directly involved with each other, but it was the work of a day to change that and cross their paths in such a way that Will could never uncross them.

No one had secured Hannibal’s notice with so little deliberation or reflection. There was no question of whether or not Will would be worth the time. Their conversations were productive, and Hannibal gained Will’s trust even as he began to chink away at Will’s foundations. Will was extraordinarily intelligent and perceptive, and Hannibal found himself enjoying their talks more than he had anticipated. Something in him thrilled when Will seemed similarly inclined and they became friendly with each other.

Will’s mind was difficult to penetrate, but Hannibal found an unexpected gift in Will’s illness. It made him malleable in an immediate way, and gave Hannibal the opening he required to free Will from what he’d been repressing for so long. Will had been stumbling blindly down his path in life, but he was finally beginning to see. All he needed was to be shown the way by an experienced guide.

\-----

No path ever ran entirely smoothly, but Hannibal hadn’t foreseen how affected he would be when Will was removed to an unfortunately necessary prison stay. He missed Will’s company, though he was captivated by the new Will he saw, the Will who was full of cold anger and effortless manipulations. Hannibal enjoyed every visit he had with Will, though they were fewer now and not nearly as intimate. Will surprised him and excited him, and had far surpassed anyone he had ever swayed with his words.

It occurred to Hannibal, sitting alone in his office one night, that while he had never been waiting for anything, a man whose gifts could rise to meet his own, who saw all of him and still stared back, would indeed be a thing worth waiting half a lifetime for.

\-----

The week Will was let out of prison, he returned to Hannibal’s office for his appointment at the usual time. He hadn’t scheduled it, but Hannibal had been expecting him. He himself was dressed more casually than usual; Will was dressed more formally than usual. Will didn’t bring a gun with him, but Hannibal had known he wouldn’t. Will was here to talk.

Hannibal’s breath unexpectedly caught in his throat as they assumed their routine, familiar and novel all at the same time. Will was the one who crossed the threshold, but it was Hannibal who felt he had passed through the gates.


End file.
